


Noble Pet

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gangbang, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: Not paying attention when in the company of the warrior caste has a rather interesting result. Duran Aeducan isn't going to complain.
Relationships: Male Aeducan/Gorim Saelac
Kudos: 5





	Noble Pet

There's just something relaxing about the heated pools the warrior caste tend to use. There's always a good blend of laughter and exhaustion in the languid forms as they wash or relax after a long day training. It's a much better option than the long haul back to the Diamond quarter and his lonely pool. It's been a long time since Duran bothered to make that trek and the warrior caste have long grown used to his presence. Admittedly he's not the only noble to make use of these pools, but he is the most frequent. The warriors even stopped using his titles a while back after someone called him by his name. There had been a horrified silence when they realised what one of their number had done, but he'd just smiled and answered the question. Since then it had stuck, tentatively at first, but now he's just another member of the caste (as much as he can ever be).

He's been idly listening to the chatter between the other occupants of the pool, all of them sworn to his house and he's long since closed his eyes and let himself drift, secure in the knowledge that he's not about to be the target of some noble ploy right now and if he does fall asleep they'll haul him out before he drowns.

“Oy, what do you think?” He blinks at Gorim as his second pokes him with a foot.

“Well.” he says as he frantically tries to think about what they were discussing. Last he remembers they were comparing conquests, in the open way they have that he admires - you'd never find the nobles even doing the deed let alone discussing it unless it involved a bribe or deal that would benefit them. That still doesn't help with finding an answer though and he looks round at them all, before taking a guess. “I think it's a good idea.”

There's a long silence as they all stare at him. Clearly he just chose the wrong answer. Or if he's lucky a right answer but not one they expected. He'd prefer not to look entirely like a fool.

“Well now.” Gorim says with a raised eyebrow and Duran frowns slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. He's not going to admit to having no clue what he's agreed with and from the slight tilt of his seconds head he has a feeling Gorim's just worked out that he's completely lost.

This is what happens when you're paired with a second from a young age, you get so used to them you forget that they seem to know what is needed before you ask until they pull something like this. He's seen Gorim's father do it often enough with his own father as he was growing and yet he is still surprised when it happens to him. He is glad though that Gorim was not considered to become Trian's second (his brother didn't want a member of the warrior caste), he'd have been wasted on his elder brother.

Gorim shuffles round the bench on the edge of the pool, body pressing against Duran's as his second leans in, water splashing over the edge behind them, murmuring into his ear. “Just follow my lead, we won't hurt you.” There's a wicked glint in his eyes as he pulls away and Duran is starting to put together the pieces as his second wades to the other edge of the pool and hauls himself out. He just got himself propositioned in some form, in public no less, if he has to take a guess. He's almost proud of that, no, he is proud of that. Despite how relaxed they are round him they've never gone that far before. 

“Coming? Or do we have to drag you out?” The others follow Gorim, one of them tossing Duran a towel as he climbs out. He ignores them all as he dries himself, ignoring the prickling feeling as he catches eyes turning his way. That's nothing new, he's used to the communal bathing and the fact that he does get admiring glances every so often; he's not used to every eye being turned his way along with a predatory gleam in them all.

Pride and curiosity are what have him following Gorim into one of the side rooms around the pool, it's got an ample bed and a good stock of oils. For massage, of course. Not that they're always used for that purpose. He gives a start as Gorim pushes down on his shoulders and he warily sinks to his knees beside the bed, letting his fingers curl into the thick rug as he takes a quick glance at the group that's followed them. The room suddenly feels very crowded as Gorim sits on the edge of the bed and pulls his head back round.

He can't be serious. Of course it certainly wouldn't be the first time he's done this (his relationship with Gorim is very much not how most seconds act when behind closed doors with their patron), but not with a crowd watching his every move. Gorim chuckles, clearly able to discern his wide eyed look and interpret it. A hand smooths over his braids and Gorim leans down. “Watch word or tap out if you need to.” Duran has the time to nod before Gorim is pulling him closer and he breathes out, letting himself be guided forwards. He just has to remind himself that they're not going to judge him for letting his second take command, he's just Duran here. Lord Aeducan is left for the battlefield or the Diamond quarter. 

He can feel himself relaxing in the familiar taste and scent, the pressure on his head and the soft murmur above him as he takes the half hard cock into his mouth. He hums slightly, scraping his teeth over flesh and the hold on his hair tightens. He'd grin if it was possible, he might not be that good at this, at least, he doesn't think he is, it's not done for a noble to so abase himself don't you know, but he does know all his second's weak spots and is happy to apply himself to them. He's always so damned stoic it amuses Duran to see him lose his composure. 

He shifts his weight, hands gripping at Gorim's thighs as the pressure on his head takes any control away from him as he concentrates on breathing. There's nothing else that matters right now, his world narrowing down to... nothing? He whines, words not working as Gorim pushes him away and Duran blinks at him as his second stands up with a quiet, “stay,” pats him on his shoulder and strides away from the bed. Did he do something wrong?

There's soft laughter behind him as Gorim moves away, not malicious, just amused at something Duran didn't quite catch, the voices a soft murmur behind him as he twists round remembering the audience at last. He ducks his head, turning away again to hide the blush he's sure is spreading across his face as he waits for him to return.

“Up on the bed.” That's not Gorim and he dares another glance around, finding him rooting around in the dresser and he gulps as his second gives him a gesture to go ahead from across the room. There's something else there too, a watchfulness, as if he's waiting for something and Duran realises that he's making sure he truly is okay with where this is going. To be honest, he's scared, nervous even, in a way he hasn't been since he went into the deep roads to fight darkspawn for the first time. Yet he trusts Gorim, he wouldn't let this go ahead if Duran could actually be hurt - so he'll try. If he can't... He can stop them, or Gorim can. Duran knows what he has to say or do for his second to stop.

“Up pet.” There's less request and more command this time and he makes his decision, scrambling up, heat pooling in him at the murmured, “good boy,” as a hand on his head keeps him on all fours. He dares to glance up at the dwarf settling at the head of the bed and she grins back, beckoning him forwards. Oh he can definitely see where this is going now, and why they were so surprised he agreed. There's no chance he'd have said yes - more on principle than for any other reason - if he'd have been paying attention. Yet he's liking this, liking where it might end up as he ducks his head, following her orders like... like a good pet. His cock twitches at that and he mewls, the sound muted by the soft flesh he's buried his face in.

The bed dips, letting him know they're not alone on it any more. It's a strange feeling, not knowing who it is behind him; the fingers now winding round his braids give him no leeway to turn and look. He jumps at the first touch, letting them gently reposition him, legs just a touch wider, shoulders down, hips higher. And it is definitely a them, more than two hands on him as he tries to brace himself a little more firmly. He must be on display now to anyone in the room, it's embarrassing is what it is, yet he's making no move to get away, his body refusing to follow his brains commands as a hand settles softly round his cock.

"Keep your focus on what you're meant to be doing." He blinks at the admonishment, realising he has indeed stopped his current task.

"Sorry." He mutters, the word already half lost as he reapplies himself. It takes a bit of contorting and shifting of his weight to get a free hand to use too without overbalancing but it's well worth it as the hands tangling in his hair tighten, several curses bitten out that he definitely hears and knows he's caused.

He moans at the touch of oil slicked fingers across his ass, wiggling it a little when they make no move to continue, it's not like he's in any position to tell them to get on with it, what with his mouth being occupied again and he only has a hand signal for 'stop', he doesn't have one for 'get on with it'. Clearly it's enough of an invitation as they continue and he thinks it's Gorim behind him, no one else could know his body quite as well - first one finger, then the burn of two curling at just the right angle to have him clutching at the sheets with his free hand and moaning so quickly.

They set a steady rhythm and he can feel his tension easing as he falls into it, letting himself be guided. He hisses out a curse as a hand tightens round his cock, just shy of being painful. He can feel the quivering in the thighs beside him as her fingers tighten almost painfully in his hair as she comes with a hoarse cry. “Good boy.” She says after a moment and he smiles, letting his head rest on one thigh, his chest heaving. He's not sure when another finger was added to him, the burning sensation unnoticed till now and he hisses as the hand around his dick tightens, whining in frustration when his hips are gripped in a steel hold that doesn't let him move as there's a brief flare of cold against his skin.

They don't stop him from reaching a hand under his stomach and he growls as his hand contacts leather, a small band wrapped around his cock with a carefully crafted buckle that won't catch on anything. He's seen them, well hidden in the markets and wondered idly what they'd be like to wear. Seems he's going to find out. There's hot breath on his neck and teeth nip at his skin. “You're done when we say you're done.” The voice is darkly amused and he can't quite place who owns it beyond knowing it's familiar and he shivers as his hand is tugged away.

“What do you want pet?” He nuzzles into the thigh beneath his cheek. What does he want? He wants. Something. Anything. “Please.” He has to lick his lips and try again as his first attempt comes out broken. “Please, fuck me.”

“Good pet.” He moves round as best he can as his pillow hops down off the bed with a last fond pat on his head. Then there's another set of hands tangling in his hair, hands under his shoulders, pulling him up before he has a chance to resettle himself and a cock at his lips. A moment later he groans around it, a choked cry as he's pinned between two unmoving forces, fingers that had been stretching him replaced by the fullness of a cock.

He has no control, barely able to keep his weight up himself as they use him and he's never been so humiliated and aroused at the same time. This is wrong. And so very right. Birthright screaming at him to fight back and stop it from happening, while his body rocks into the thrusts, uncaring of things like dignity. How can he care about that when his cock is hard and throbbing and every movement is torture. 

He winces as fingers dig into his hips, he'll have bruises - some part of his brain is proud of that fact as if they're trophies to be won - and the smooth rhythm they have turns jerky. He hisses as he's left to support his own weight when somebody shifts out from behind him, his arms and legs don't feel quite attached and he feels empty. Aching. There's another cock filling his ass before he can truly mourn the loss of the last, hands supporting him and his world is starting to narrow down to the slide of flesh on flesh.

He's enjoying this. Enjoying being used like a toy and he'd laugh if he could. Because his tutors assured him that a noble never bows to a lower caste. Let alone allowing anything else. It's not done. Not right.

Fuck their right and wrong and precisely ordered world.

“Swallow pet.” He blinks through the tears that are gathering as he fights to breathe, to not gag and follows the order he's been given. Since when was that ever a choice? He thought that was expected and he'd done it without thinking about it first time he and Gorim had experimented. 

“You teach him to do that?” The question doesn't seem to be aimed at him and he concentrates on remembering to breathe again.

“Didn't have to teach him, he's a natural.” That's Gorim's voice and he smiles, despite how much his jaw is aching, because there's smug pride in Gorim's tone that he thinks he's responsible for. (Even if he's not quite sure what he's done). 

He rocks backwards now that the hold on his hair has eased off, stuttered curses from behind him mixing with his panting breath - because he doesn't have the extra energy to talk - and he whines at the feeling of seed filling him without being allowed his own release.

The room is bright as he's turned over and he squeezes his eyes closed against the light, feeling tears track down his face as he reaches out by feel to find the weight settling over his hips and there's a light laugh as his hands are batted aside and then pulled away more forcefully when he tries to buck his hips as the warmth - tight and welcoming - of a cunt surrounds him. He howls. Begs. Pleads. They don't listen, laughing as his limbs are kept in implacable grips as whoever is riding him sets the pace.

He'll be done when they say he's done.

One turns into another and he's losing count of how many, or where, or how. Just lots and it's right. Good. Perfect. He's good too, he's doing well. The voices talking to him say so and he turns where they direct, letting them guide him. If he's good they'll let him be done.

Maybe.

He just has to be good.

He is good. And fire is burning him, a pain/pleasure mix that he can't describe as he shudders, darkness gathering behind his eyes.

There are voices nearby. He's too tired and sore to try and open his eyes and work out who they are but some part of his brain recognises them as friendly. Safe. So he doesn't have to force himself to move. He'd try and speak to them but his throat is raw and he swallows the words with a whimper.

“How's he doing?” 

“He'll be fine, just exhausted.”

There's the sound of water being poured and he realises with a start how thirsty he is. “I can't see how the rest of the Noble caste don't see what a gift this is.”

There are hands on his shoulders, tugging him up and he doesn't have the strength to either resist or to assist, slumping bonelessly onto a warm chest. “It's the trust involved, they're taught never to trust anyone.”

“You got lucky with him.” The other voice is nearer now and he drinks greedily when a cup is placed at his mouth, uncaring of the cool droplets that splash across his chest and the faint green and copper taste that suggests there's a healing potion mixed into it. His guess has to be right as he can feel his throat easing up as he drinks.

“I did.” The dwarf holding him says, arms tightening a touch in a possessive grip.

“I've got someone bringing your clothing in here, will you need anything else?”

“Could you see about getting us something to eat?” The cup is taken away and he curls back into the chest as footsteps retreat from them.

“I'll see to it. And Gorim, if he ever decides to do this again, do give me a call.”

The chest supporting him vibrates, soft laughter escaping his head rest. “I'll remember that.”

There's a soft thump as the door is closed and silence settles into the room. It's a comforting silence, just the steady rise and fall of Gorims chest and the thump of his heart under his ear and the crackle of a lowly burning fire somewhere in the room. He's half way back to sleep when he hears the murmured, “good boy,” and he smiles.


End file.
